


you are the moon

by goabani



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Major Character Injury, Major character death - Freeform, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 21:03:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11321703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goabani/pseuds/goabani
Summary: Tracer wishes they were more thorough, wishes that her team had cleared that section of the city first. But she hadn't, and now Tracer and Lucio are alone in an alleyway with the notorious sniper who was bleeding to death.





	you are the moon

Seeing her, with sickly lilac skin and stark yellow eyes was enough to upset her even on physical levels no matter the circumstance. Yet as Lena caught the building corner and heard the wet cough of the woman, tucked away from public view in a dingy alleyway, she could feel her stomach churn at the sharp tang of copper hanging heavy in the air.

“No, no…” Running forward and dropping to her knees, she frantically rolls Widowmaker onto her back. “No no  _ no _ !” she chants like it will undo the damage. Widowmaker squints, the sudden change in position causing her vision to swim in the light. When she finally focused on Lena’s face, she couldn’t help but smile and relax. Easing her weight into Lena’s arms like rescue had finally arrived, like she thought it was going to be okay; the realization on Lena’s part made her mouth go dry but nonetheless found herself shouting into the comms for backup.

“It is nice to see you again, chérie,” Widowmaker says as if it was another normal day. Holding her breath for a couple seconds, she steadies herself as another wave of pain rippled through her. “You look nice today.”

“Now is not the time for this!” Lena hisses, visibly uncertain as to what she should do with her hands. She snaps out of her stupor when Widowmaker groans and blood gushes from beneath the hand that cradled her stomach. She was about to reach out and knock her hand out of the way when the scratch of skates caught their attention. Lucio slides into the mouth of the alleyway, the sun silhouetting his figure. He startles, seeing the pool of blood seeping into the cracks of stone around the prone body before the person herself. Rushing forward, he practically mimics Lena’s earlier actions as his armored knees clatter against the cobblestone of the street. 

“Oh, god,” is all he can utter out in his shock, setting his amplifier speaker down besides her hip to evaluate her wounds. At face value, she wasn’t roughed up all too badly; cuts and bruises littered her body by the handful and it looked like she ruptured a blood vessel in her eye. Those were not an issue, as within seconds, the abrasions began scabbing over and the bruises were becoming a sickly yellow. Cautiously, his gaze flickers to her pensive stare to the disgusting splash of red as he pried the hand away. Unfortunately, his amplifier was not enough to seal the massive rift in her abdomen this time. It hardly did anything he discovered, the viscera giving a weak throb beneath his ginger touch.

“It is quite bad, isn’t it?” she asks like there would be another answer, her gaze turning to the baby blue skies mocking them. How unfair it was to be such a nice day for such a tragedy.

“Can’t you put it back in?” Lena cried out, not initially noticing that Widowmaker had locked their fingers together until she tightened her grip in pain. The way Widowmaker’s eyes screwed shut twisted something awful inside her chest, like someone had reached in and took ahold of her heart.

“Stop-” Widowmaker groaned out in protest through the agony as Lucio persisted, even as she pawed at him with hands slick with her own fluids. He apologized profusely, high and reedy in tone, trying his hardest to at least keep everything inside the unevenly cut hole in her torso. It was a blast that had done this, but still distinctively belonging to a gun with the way it emanated throughout the city; sharp yet explosive. He swallows thickly as he mulled it over in his head what this might mean.

“It doesn’t exactly work like that,” he loathes to admit, fiddling with the amplifier settings before he met Lena’s gaze for a moment. Even in a brief exchange, an understanding dawned on her and she whimpered pathetically. Widowmaker must’ve caught the look as well, and sighed in perturbation, knocking her head into Lena’s knees.

“It’s not working, is it?” she asks in a hushed murmur. Lucio doesn’t falter even as he shakes his head frantically. His hands tremble as they push the skin-tight suit further apart to clear the wound of any material. The cold breeze of the sea made her shiver all over, her hand squeezing Lena’s reflexively.

“No- no, it is,” he tells her, trying to will his voice to sound stronger. Widowmaker blinks at him, her eyes falling shut for a just a second too long and Lena sucks in a breath, fearing for the worst. That seems to get her attention, and she turns to look at the younger woman hovering over her.

“This is how I’m gonna die, huh?” she asks, her words strained and reedy. If being gutted wasn’t reason to panic, the sudden realization that the medic was not appropriately suited to save her sinking in was more than enough. Lena bites her lip and shakes her head, fighting against the sting in her eyes not to cry. She wants to cling to the hope that she might make it, that she might be able to live another day to taunt the younger brit on the enemy lines. But the look in Widowmaker’s eyes plucked at her heartstrings- the look of acceptance and exhaustion.

“Widowmaker, don’t-”

“Don’t call me that-” she wheezes in a breath and turns to cough, the strain wreaking havoc upon her already frail body. Trying to spit out the words, she dislodged some of the fluids pooling in her lungs and she rolls to her side to throw it up. The sight is anything but pretty, mucus and blood leaking from her nose and coating her lips in a oily, cherry red. “Please.”

“You can’t talk, you gotta stop talking-” Lucio insists, his fingers trembling from where they were holding her organs in. He could feel the saliva pooling in his mouth and shoved down the instinctual need to vomit when the force of the hacking only pushed her guts out more, squelching and working their way between his fingers.

“My name is Amelie.”

“Amelie...” Lena says reverentially, working the familiar name around on her tongue as if she couldn’t believe it, “That’s the name of my girlfriend.” Lena is staring at her like it’s the first time she has seen Widowmaker before, like she hasn’t seen her photo when she obsessed over her files years ago; awestruck and stricken with foolish puppylove.

“She is a lucky one,” Widowmaker mumbles, her lips twitching into a smile. She has known for years who Emily was, and has well acquainted the sickening feeling of jealously that pooled in her gut to the thought of her. Lena’s dam broke down in record time, those alligator tears trailing down her cheeks were near silent.

“Amelie, you gotta stop talking,” the medic gulps, “please.” Lucio, as distraught as he was, wasn’t dreaming of giving up. Not matter how discouraging it was to have her intestines fighting the barrier of his gloved palms, he wasn’t giving up.

“I really am going to die,” she quakes, trembling all over like a leaf. Her skin is feverishly warm to the touch, the healing rhythm working her body into overdrive despite it’s best intentions.

“Shut up-”

“You’re crying for me.”

“Just shut up.” Widowmaker laughs, a feeble push of air through her trembling lips. Lena scrambled to undo the ponytail, wanting desperately to thread her fingers through those violet locks at least once before it was too late. Widowmaker doesn’t do much else other than raise her head for Lena’s benefit, her eyes slipping shut once more at the glide of her hand along her scalp.

“I’m sorry.”

“What?” the two younger agents squawk in unison. In any other position, she would have rolled her eyes at them, but the threat of tears stopped her in her tracks.

“Don’t you give up on me!” Lucio says- rather, he pleads in a warbling voice.

“Sorry for hurting so many people,” she gasps out, her eyes are glassy and wet, “I-I do not like the pain.” Her syllables are slurring together as she admits this outloud. Lena chokes on her own words, cradling her head on her lap.

“Breathe, Amelie!” she all but yells in desperation, watching her chest rise and fall in fluttering, shallow breaths too weak to support even a child.

“It hurts so much.”

“I know, just- stay with me!” Lucio has two digits pressed to her throat, an attempt for a pulse. They must have forgotten about her altered biology as Lucio pulls away with nothing but a frustrated growl.

“Do not bother,” she says at last, insisting gently; her voice almost washed away with the steady beat of music. “I will not make it.” Reluctantly, Lucio obliges. Keeping the music on, he tentatively lets go of the wound to scoot up. Opposite of Lena, he was careful to use his cleaner hand to sweep a few stray strands of hair out of her eyes. With the hand not laced with Lena’s, Widowmaker catches his hand before he got a chance to drop it. Her fingers fumble with the edge of his glove, her movements sluggish and uncoordinated. “I want to hear it.”

“Hear what?” Lucio asks, letting his body get pulled with the smallest trace of force from Widowmaker. She pulls him close, close enough that he could see how pale her skin has become, close enough to see her lips turn almost white, close enough to see the desperation in her eyes. 

“Chéri-” she draws in a shuddering breath as she tugs him by the neck, “I want to hear  _ it _ .” Widowmaker nuzzles his chest, her body trembling with the strain of holding herself up. Lena sobbed openly as she held her upper body up, trying to make her as comfortable as she could despite the circumstances. Lucio buried his face in Lena’s neck, his breath skipping and trembling in his throat. It felt like they were creating a makeshift hospice; petting her hair, holding her close, letting her hone in on the frantic beating of Lucio’s heartbeat.

“You are so kind,” she whispers, fumbling around to find Lucio’s other hand, the one she had dropped. Upon finding it, she busied herself with tracing the wires and textures of the glove. She hums, a low hum only meant for the two of them to hear, something sacred. Widowmaker sounded happy, content, satisfied. And it made Lena want to yell at her, scream at her and ask why she is so happy about this, ask her if she wanted this, ask her if she wanted to die. But all that comes out is a gross sniffle and a question.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” Lena croaks out, wanting to fill the deafening space around them with  _ something. _ Widowmaker cracks open her eyes and tilts her head to the side in the negative. Of course she does, but she wasn’t going to tell her even if she did have the strength to.

So Lena tells her about the peace rally in Kings Row, and how there was a mysterious and beautiful assassin she fought on the rooftops. Even when Widowmaker’s smile goes lax and the ugly blue skin goes cold, she keeps talking about the shot like she would wake up any second now and chastise her for exaggerating. Even when the sun threatens to leave them in the dark alleyway with the drone of the flies closing in and the scutter of curious rats, she keeps talking until she can’t talk anymore. Her voice raw from her violent sobbing and the ache of her throat protesting her storytelling, she falls silent.

**Author's Note:**

> they call me the angst machine QwQ got a suggestion? my tumblr is bunnnrabbit and my askbox is open (or if you want, message me privately so i can keep you updated!)


End file.
